


The Camera Roll

by DanaScullyMakesMeFeelAutopsyTurvy



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Doggy Style, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s11e03 Plus One, Season 11 Mulder, Season/Series 11, Sex Tapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:55:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanaScullyMakesMeFeelAutopsyTurvy/pseuds/DanaScullyMakesMeFeelAutopsyTurvy
Summary: In that awkward post Plus One, pre ‘Are we together?’ Nothing Lasts Forever phase, Mulder and Scully make a sex tape, but also have some feelings. Maybe it’s a MSIV ending origin story.Audio version available on Audio Fanfic Podcasthere
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 21
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [admiralty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiralty/gifts).



> This was directly requested by admiralty after a throwaway joke in Straight Out Of The 3-Pack (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21451651). And you don’t refuse the admiral. 
> 
> Many thanks as always to my betas: this time admiralty, SlippinMickeys and OnlyTheInevitable.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scully ponders over Mulder’s porn collection.

**2018**

It is early in the year and the short, dark days are pregnant with potential, laden with a sense of renewal: cold, blank slates waiting to be inscribed with unlimited stories yet to be conceived. In January, it still feels like anything can happen. Even miracles seem possible in the garnet month.

Scully stares out of Mulder’s kitchen window into the impenetrable black ink of night creeping over the pre-dawn fields, her cool hands wrapped around her old coffee mug. She is not back, not officially. But she is here. 

She sips the hot liquid and awaits the boost to her system. It is her own preferred brand she is drinking, stocked as it was in the nigh on bare refrigerator next to Mulder’s choice. It has not escaped her notice that he has been keeping it there in recent months, replacing it when the date ran out even if the coffee had not. He wants her there. 

He wants her back, she knows this. 

She is not quite ready. This, she also knows. 

But Mulder is asleep upstairs and the slippery fluid evidence of last night’s probably ill-advised activities is still spread across her inner thighs, sticking Mulder’s borrowed boxer shorts to her skin. 

They are not long back from Henrico County, where this all started again. What are they doing? She doesn’t know. She only knows it feels good to be home. 

She allows herself the risky luxury of thinking of it as her home still, now and again. 

This is all so new, so undefined: embryonic. But of course it is not new at all; it is familiar history repeating, it is _them_ , being born again. If she has the strength to will it into being. Mulder has done his part; it will be down to her own internal labors now.

She sighs and puts down her drink, stepping into the living room, having seen something she knows how to handle; something she can fix.

The DVDs from the drawers at the bottom of the TV unit are spread haphazardly across the coffee table from the night before when they’d attempted to select a movie to satisfy them both, before abandoning the task and tumbling upstairs together to satisfy something else instead. 

She gathers them up, opens the drawer. Checks for a system of organization, doesn’t find one, alphabetizes them anyway. Something niggles in her cerebral cortex; she isn’t sure what. A feeling of something lost or missing. She closes the drawer. 

Halfway back to the kitchen she realizes.

Porn. 

At one time delving into any Mulder media collection would have meant delicately skipping over ballooning breasts and spread legs, impractically long false nails, and high heels tied with ribbons up to the knee. _Alien Anal Probes 4. Close Encounters of the Nude Kind. World’s Head-liest Swarms._

But Mulder doesn’t appear to have any of those videos that aren’t his anymore. The whole DVD collection in the drawer had been rated NC-17 or under. Not a triple X in sight. 

She pauses mid-step, and curiosity gets the better of her. She peers upstairs to check the landing surreptitiously through the balusters then quietly pushes open the door to Mulder’s study, scanning the shelves and the various heaps scattered around the floor. Nothing untoward in here either. 

Huh. When did that happen? 

She retreats, carefully pulling the door back to its previous position. Resumes her journey back to the kitchen and her caffeine fix.

She recalls finding his stash of VHS tapes in the basement for the first time all those years ago, trying to find a home for the go bag she’d planned to leave at the office. He’d been standing not far behind her leafing through a file cabinet and she’d silently closed the offending drawer and said nothing, leaving the bag between the shelving stacks instead. She’d been unsure how to feel about it. He didn’t really fit the prior images she’d had in her mind of prolific consumers of pornography, and she hadn’t been certain how to reconcile the two. 

She’d also arrived to find him reading his perennial favorite, Hanky Panky, a time or two, with him pretending that he hadn’t been caught doing anything wrong. She might have reported him to HR if he’d been some other male colleague - some other, less handsome male colleague - but after she suspected she herself had been caught by Mulder checking out his butt in his fitted suit pants on more than one occasion it would have felt hypocritical to call him out for sexual harassment.

She is trying to recall whether she’s ever seen a stash of adult material in this house when Mulder appears at the top of the stairs, looking relieved.

“Oh, hey Scully, I thought maybe you’d left,” he says, ambling down the stairs in his underwear, with no shirt on. She’s sure he knows what he’s up to, walking around in front of her like that. 

She keeps her distance, shakes her head, looking almost sad. Apologetic. Regretful. Maybe she ought to have left. This isn’t fair to him, she worries. She really should have gone back to her apartment last night before it all got so heated. Again. But he keeps looking at her with those patient eyes lately and she keeps giving in to him. Giving in to herself.

She wants to make him his morning drink but she doesn’t want to appear too comfortable, too wifely: too much like she lives here and is not just an overnight guest. But she is not _just_ anything at all, not to Mulder at least. So she sits at the table and keeps her hands warming around the sides of the cup, one thumb hooked through the handle, and studies her cuticles as he moves around the kitchen. 

He offers her eggs and bagels and she accepts, enjoying the domesticity of him cooking for her even while it gives her deep anxiety. She doesn’t want him to get too comfortable either. She isn’t sure where they are going and she doesn’t want to give him false hope if the answer is nowhere. She watches him add some kind of vinegar to the water before cracking the eggs and notes that he’s picked up some new tricks while she’s been gone. Her stomach drops as she considers that some other woman might have been here, passing on tips while making him breakfast, padding around the kitchen in one of his dress shirts and little else. She flushes hot then cold and is glad Mulder is occupied with the toaster oven. 

She would have absolutely no right to be jealous or angry. But her heart pounds just thinking about the possibility of another woman in his bed. In _their_ bed.

This physical revulsion towards interlopers is long established and a big sign pointing her towards where her heart belongs. But her heart has never, ever been the obstacle when it comes to him. There are so many things running through her head that keep her held back from just relenting and coming back to the house; back to Mulder.

All of the best moments in her life have been inextricably bound to him. 

All of her worst moments too. 

In denying herself she is protecting them both. 

She just doesn’t know if she could cope with it all again, especially the part where it ended. Once was devastating enough. Twice would break her, she suspects. She _knows_ it would break Mulder, and that terrifying truth has been keeping her awake at night and rousing her from sleep mere hours after she eventually drops off. She genuinely worries whether he would survive it. She will need to know, if she comes back - if she really comes home - that this time it is forever.

She can tell he is so damn happy to have her sitting in the kitchen, postcoitally awaiting breakfast. He is trying to keep his cool, so as not to frighten her off, she assumes. Only looking at her when asking her a question. Only smiling when he thinks she isn’t paying attention to him. It makes her heart ache. She needs to make a decision, one way or the other, and soon. 

She decides to lighten the mood, for both their sakes. 

As he lays her plate on the table in front of her, she turns to him. 

“Looks good Mulder; have you been watching the cooking channel?” she asks. Teasingly, she hopes. 

“YouTube,” he corrects her. “There are a surprising number of kitchen-based vloggers.” 

She hides her immense relief at this revelation by asking another question.

“Mulder, how come you don’t have your porn collection anymore?”

“What?” he asks, caught off guard.

“All the little videos you used to have in your apartment and at the office.” She cuts into a perfectly poached egg, the orange yolk running over the cream cheese and onto her plate. “They’re not here are they?”

He considers this, chewing. 

“Well, Scully, the office collection was a little-considered tragic victim of the basement arson attack. You can’t piece together melted Mylar. Apparently.”

She quirks an eyebrow at this, smirking. 

“And I threw out the ones from my apartment when I moved in with you.”

She nods, gently, looking back at her breakfast.

“Anyway,” he continues. “I don’t need it. I haven’t needed it for years.”

She looks up and smiles at him. “Mulder,” she says, moving her fork-free hand to his bare knee. “That’s… almost sweet.”

He cocks his head to one side, momentarily puzzled before a look of recognition alters his features. “Oh. No. Sorry to burst your bubble, Scully. I mean I don’t need it because someone invented the Internet.”

She leaves her hand where it is but frowns at him, mildly perturbed, opening that office drawer for the first time all over again. 

“I’m not sure that’s what Sir Tim Berners-Lee had in mind when he gave the World Wide Web as a gift to all humankind,” she says flatly.

“Maybe it was a gift to all _man_ kind, Scully. Maybe that’s exactly what he had in mind…”

She wrinkles her nose at him, and not in her cute way. “Gross, Mulder.” 

“It’s not gross,” he says with a shrug. “It’s just… functional. I’m a man; I have needs. It’s not all the time, just when the need…. arises.” They both cringe, lightly balking at his Freudian choice of words. He presses on. “What, you’re saying you were a nun during all those years between Jack Willis and me?” He tellingly skips over Ed Jerse. “And… more recently?” 

Her mind’s eye snaps to the pink Je Joue she keeps in her nightstand - an expensive brand, because if Scully believes in anything for certain it’s doing _all_ things properly - and she recalls that she has not seen it since she last made use of it one late-December evening. She pushes the image from her consciousness and retracts her hand with a distinct note of huff. Cuts into the bagel somewhat savagely. “Well I certainly didn’t rely on the exploitation of vulnerable young women to get my sexual kicks. And besides, how can you find that at all arousing? All those fake orgasms and the badly acted moaning? The whole… pantomime of it. It’s so off putting.”

He eyes her for a moment. “It seems you have more than a passing knowledge of the tropes of this particular genre for someone who’s not a fan, Scully.”

She is quiet, subtly pouting, eyebrows pushed up, cutting her food into smaller and smaller pieces. Looking at the plate and not at him. He is transported back to a thousand other pouts and averted, irritated glances. It's flat out nostalgic for him to see her like this. She’s so cute when she’s pissed. But he values his life, so keeps that thought to himself.

“It’s not all like that anymore,” he offers, although he isn’t sure this is a conversation he wants to be getting into.

“Oh no?” she asks, whipping her face up to meet his gaze. “What is it like then? What do _you_ like?”

He was correct; he definitely does not want to start this conversation with her. “Scully, we’re not going to talk about this. It’s a bad idea.”

“No seriously,” she says, softening slightly. “What do you… search for? When the need... _arises_.” 

He sighs and shakes his head, looking up and away; thinking. He takes a breath then stops himself. “No, Scully. I can’t; this is too weird.”

She swallows another mouthful and pauses the next loaded forkful inches from her face. “Don’t forget I am a federal agent, Mulder. If I want to I can have that laptop up to Quantico for investigation this afternoon.”

“A valuable use of the taxpayer’s money, Scully,” he drones, sarcastically.

“Anyway I know all your passwords are Knicks73,” she points out. “I’ll just look it up when you’re in the shower.”

He pins her with a look. “Fine,” he says. “I like amateur.”

She can’t stop the corners of her mouth curving up into a smile. “Amateur?”

“Yeah, it’s, like, real couples. No fake orgasms _or_ badly acted moaning,” he says, playfully petulant. 

Scully looks horrified. “People make those? And put them on the _Internet?!_ ”

Mulder shrugs, nodding. “And put them on the Internet,” he affirms.

Scully looks perturbed. She returns to eating the rest of her bagel, sips on her now lukewarm coffee. She goes quiet.

“What?” he probes. 

He can hear her thinking. 

“Nothing,” she assures him. Which when Scully says it, means definitely not nothing. 

He waits for it.

“It’s just-“ she gathers the last of the congealing yolk with the final bite of bread. “Well… which do you prefer? Watching those videos or being with… someone?” 

She means herself, of course.

It’s time to get serious. He places a hand on her far shoulder, his forearm draping across her neck reassuringly. She meets his eyes. “I’d rather be with you, Scully. I always want to be with you.” 

She catches his double meaning and has to look away. 

It’s his turn to brighten the mood. 

“Anyway I only watch those videos because I don’t have any Scully porn to look at,” he jokes, shoving the last of his food into his mouth and giving her a knowing nod as he grabs the plates to deliver them to the dishwasher.

She tilts her head to one side behind his back and looks thoughtful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments gratefully accepted here, on twitter (@callmescully) or on DanaScullyMakesMe@gmail.com
> 
> Audio version available on Audio Fanfic Podcast [here](https://soundcloud.com/audiofanficpod/sets/xf-the-camera-roll-by-danascullymakesmefeelautopsyturvy-ma)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex tape and chill.

It is a Tuesday and they don’t have anything specific to do, so the default plan is to head to DC and down to the basement. Scully makes her apologies around 7 am and heads home to fetch a clean outfit; she really hadn’t intended to stay and so had brought nothing with her. She leaves without kissing him goodbye, and it is awkward for them both but nobody says it aloud.

She calls around 8:45 to say she’s heading to Quantico instead, to meet with an old colleague she’s been meaning to catch up with. Mulder makes a joke about his laptop, but really does double check he’s still got it with him, just in case. 

He texts her early in the afternoon, and she says she is at some outlet mall in Alexandria. Maybe getting lunch with the colleague at the food court, he guesses, although finding it a bit far from the academy, and not to mention a touch déclassé for Scully, these days.

He fields a couple of cases earmarked as X-Files, finding them uninteresting, and deflecting them off to Violent Crimes. He surpasses his personal best, with seventeen pencils sticking in the ceiling tiles for more than two hours straight, and considers paying an intern to bring him down some food from the cafeteria, then remembers he doesn’t have an intern, so begrudgingly heads up to the eighth floor himself for an uninspiring beef on rye.

Around four he gets antsy and, with no pressing task, looming case, or Scully to keep him invested in sticking around the office, he heads back to Farr’s Corner.

As he closes the property gate back in Virginia, his stomach turns. He sees Scully’s car pulled up in front of the house. What is she doing here, by herself? He should be filled with joy at her unexpected presence. It is everything he has wanted for a long, long time: for her to just be here, unremarkably, again; in the home he has never stopped thinking of as theirs.

But something about this is off. She has been coming over far more frequently since they’ve been back at the Bureau, but hardly ever uninvited or unannounced, and never alone, that he knows of. She behaves as though she doesn’t just belong here, as though she can’t come and go as she pleases.

He thinks over how she left early this morning and never showed up at the Hoover Building. Has something changed? Does she regret their sexual renaissance? It has happened just often enough now that he has allowed himself to relax into believing it is a new development and not an aberration. Four or five times since the Poundstone twins case. He thinks she is enjoying it as much as he is; she certainly seems to be having a good time and he has deliberately waited for her to instigate each encounter so that he can be sure that he isn’t pressuring her into anything. He needs to know that she wants him: that she wants... whatever this is.

But today has been different. He has barely heard from her at all. Did her lunch with the ex colleague turn into a heart-to-heart with some old girlfriend that ended with her resolving to end this? Is she in there right now retrieving the few belongings she still has dotted around the house? His stomach is in knots as he parks up next to Scully’s SUV and launches up the porch steps.

He bursts through the screen door, tentatively calling her name, trying not to betray his cool exterior. There is no response so he raises his voice a touch, yelling “Scullaay” as he takes the stairs two at a time.

“In here, Mulder,” comes an altogether too calm voice from the bedroom. He takes a second to compose himself before entering.

As he pushes open the door he is met with the very welcome sight of Scully poised on the edge of the bed in her underwear. Well, in some underwear anyway. He doesn’t recognize it. Not that he should recognize every piece of lingerie she owns these days. It is navy and lacy and leaves just little enough to the imagination without being trashy. This might be the best greeting he’s ever received, he thinks, drinking in her form from tip to toe.

“Hey there,” he says, with a confused smile. “It’s not my birthday, is it?” 

There is a strange light in the room and he momentarily tears his eyes away from Scully’s semblance of an outfit to see an LED par can clipped to the top of the wardrobe door. On the bedside table stands a small tripod.

His eyes go wide and he looks back at her, nervously perched on the comforter.

“Well, you said you wanted some Scully porn,” she says in a quiet voice.

He swallows. Stares at her in disbelief. “I said I… I said I didn’t _have_ any Scully porn.”

She stands up, eyes down, looks like she has lost her nerve and will cover up and halt the whole thing before it begins. “Okay, if you don’t want any… I can just return this stuff. I still have the receipt.”

“No, no, no Scully, I-“ He gently grabs her arm just as she is turning away. She lifts her eyes up to meet his, looking vulnerable. 

“Scully, I’m just a little surprised. This is… This is a GREAT idea.” He smiles, wide, and pulls her towards him by the waist. A shy smile of her own plays across her face. He tilts his head down to kiss her, their mouths meeting softly. Tongues. Lips. Heat. More than a hint of the sex that will inevitably follow.

He breaks away, looking at the tripod. 

“So where’s the camera?” he inquires.

“I thought we could use your phone,” she suggests, and he gives her a quick peck and a look of approval before dashing over to fix his handset into the spring-mounted contraption, using the forward-facing camera so that their on-screen activity is beamed back to them, a miniature monitor of angles and framing. He points it towards the bed and turns back to face her. 

“Should I turn it on?” 

“Sure,” she nods quickly, sounding breathless. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

He pauses. “Are you sure about this, Scully?”

She thinks of him watching other couples together. Other women sucking and fucking and moaning and coming. Him intently taking all of it in as he spills his seed over his own fist. 

“I’m sure,” she affirms. “But Mulder, we need some ground rules.”

He listens.

“You can keep this on your phone for two weeks, maximum. And you have to change your passcode to something more secure.”

He starts to protest but she holds up her palm. “Ten thirteen sixty one Mulder. You’re just asking to get hacked. I can’t risk it.”

He can’t argue with that, so he nods.

“Then it’s going on an encrypted external hard drive. Password protected. _Not_ Knicks73. Or anything Knicks related.”

He accepts these terms gravely.

“Okay hit it,” she instructs, taking a deep breath. His eyes silently thank her as he turns to press record. He is so incredibly glad he charged the phone in the Explorer.

He turns back to her and she’s standing there awkwardly, not seeming to know what to do with her limbs. Seeing her out of her comfort zone is unusual and unendingly adorable, Mulder thinks.

“Just relax, Scully,” he murmurs, grinning as he takes her into his arms to resume their kiss. He is between her and the camera and she turns them sideways so that the lens captures them both in profile, her chin lifting up to his, elongating her neck. She snakes the fingers of one hand into his hairline, a possessive gesture he adores, and he feels the blood rushing to his hardening cock.

She runs the hand nearest to the camera down his bicep over his suit jacket, gently squeezing his muscles through the fabric, and moans her approval into his mouth. 

He needs to get out of his clothes as soon as possible. 

They work as a team, removing each item swiftly, roughly, tossing them aside, and soon he is standing in front of her with nothing on. She rakes her eyes over him from head to groin and he catches her biting her lip. She smiles knowingly. 

“Hello, big boy,” she says in a flirtatious lilt, and he chuckles as he reaches around under her rear and lifts her up into his body. She wraps her smooth legs around his hips and they fall down onto the bed, mouths and arms entangled.

He checks the screen to see if they are still in shot, and she looks up too. The lighting she has rigged up is flattering from this angle. She has planned this well; Scully to the end. 

He is on top of her and, as he resumes their kiss, she runs her fingernails over his shoulder blades and down his back until they are lightly scraping his glutes, back and forth, over and around. Her legs are still wrapped around him and she gives a squeeze of her thighs as he runs one hand over her hip and up to her knee, reaching back.

“Nice threads,” he mumbles, running his hand back down the length of her thigh, sliding his fingers beneath the fabric of the panties at the juncture of her leg and hip. “Now take them off.”

Scully lifts her torso from the bed, deftly reaching behind her back to undo the clasp of the bra. She lifts each strap seductively from her shoulders and drapes the lacy contraption over the pillow next to her, coyly smiling. Mulder gently tugs the panties at each side and she lifts her hips so he can pull them all the way down over her ankles, discarding them over the edge of the bed.

He returns to his position atop her, his erection now pressed against the soft skin of her open thighs, and kisses her again, deep and full. He breaks away and dips down, taking a hardened nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue over the deep pink bud. Scully grabs the back of his head, gripping the hair and tilting her own head back, her mouth falling open and a quiet gasp escaping her lips. 

Mulder reaches down between their bodies and strokes the length of his hard-on with one hand, rubbing the tip against Scully’s exposed clitoris, eliciting another gasp. He maneuvers it down into the wetness below and is about to push up into her when she places a warm palm on his chest and stops him.

“No,” she whispers. “Let me turn around so you can see my face on the camera.”

Well, he’s not about to argue with that. 

He kneels up and away from her and she scrambles to her knees, turning away from him and settling on all fours, glancing back over her shoulder to give him a devastatingly erotic look. 

She watches him as he pulls her hips back into his and guides himself inside her body, sliding effortlessly into her: she is hot, drenched: ready. She turns her face back to the camera and looks right down the lens as he starts to fuck her from behind, her breath catching with each thrust, smiling wantonly at her own image displayed back to her. She studies his face, watching him watch her, his eyes running over her back and neck and down to the cleft of her body where he is splitting her deliciously in two, his hands running over her rounded contours and using her hips as handles.

She catches his eye on the screen; he looks so pleased. She imagines him watching this in the months ahead and a thrill passes through her body, right down to the muscles wrapped tightly around Mulder as he pushes into her over and over again. 

“What do you want me to do?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he growls. “Just be yourself.”

“Be myself?”

“Yeah, just...” He pauses to catch his breath; “...be Scully.”

“Be Scully?” she breathes with a glint in her eye.

He nods, pumping a little slower.

She lifts herself up off her hands, leaning back into him so her back is flush with his chest, her breasts now exposed to the light from the wardrobe. Her legs are spread at the knees into an inverted _v_ against the bedding, the soft brown curls at her pubic bone adding the perfect punctuation to her smooth, ivory skin.

They both independently note but do not verbalize that this is a great angle for her; her stomach muscles pulled taut, one arm behind her head reaching for Mulder’s cheek, the other resting on her thigh. Her small but rounded breasts are lifted by her raised arm and sit high on her chest, gently bouncing with each of Mulder’s thrusts. She is majestic: not an unflattering shadow to be seen, thanks to the additional lighting rig. 

Mulder already suspects what his favorite part of the video will be. He quickens his pace once again.

“Oh yeah, Mulder,” Scully starts to moan. She takes her palm from his cheek and grabs his hand away from her hip, drawing it to her breast, covering it with her own. “Oh god yes, oh _yeah_ Mulder. Manually stimulate my mammary glands, oh _fuck_ yeah.” 

He stops mid thrust. 

She looks at him in the phone screen, her eyebrow raised to a mischievous angle. “What? You told me to be myself.”

He pauses. Closes his eyes for a moment. “Just… be a little less yourself.” He looks chagrined, but not enough to really care when he’s balls deep and watching it all unfold on camera.

She nods her understanding and he recommences his efforts, rolling the soft flesh beneath his hand and pinching a nipple between his forefingers. Scully inhales sharply and tilts her pelvis back so that he is hitting her at just the right angle. She bites her lip and looks to camera. “Oh, fuck me Mulder, yeah. _I’m your dirty little slut.”_

“Jesus Christ, Scully!” Mulder shouts, almost slipping out of her. He exhales forcefully through his nose as he slides himself back in. He catches her gaze in reverse once more, and speaks again, softly. “No Scully. Just… _no_. Somewhere in the middle, for chrissakes.”

He knows which part he will edit out.

He takes a few deep breaths and she wipes the smile off her face, done teasing him. He feels too good pumping into her from behind to mess with her own pleasure any longer. “Sorry Mulder,” she says, turning to peck him on the cheek. “I’ll be serious now.”

“No,” he growls at her. “ _I’ll_ be serious now.” He leans back a little on his axis and lifts his hips with each pounding movement so that he is filling her completely. He moves his arm across her body to her other breast so that she is caught against him. 

She likes to be restrained. 

It has the effect he intends, and she cannot fight her response; her pulse quickens, her cheeks flush, her desire gushes anew.

“I want to see you come, Scully,” he tells her, and her right hand floats between her legs, where she begins to roll her middle finger over her hard, swollen clit as he works at her g-spot from the inside.

His smile grows and grows as her moans increase in pitch and volume, and when she starts to blaspheme and cuss like a sailor he knows the end is imminent. 

She forgets the camera and tilts her head back into his shoulder as she shudders violently and cries out his name for the final time. It is all Mulder needs to finish, and he feels his ejaculate rushing out of his body and into hers as she kisses the side of his lips, her neck craning back to reach him.

They collapse forward onto the bed. Mulder pinning Scully to the mattress. As they catch their breath she giggles, reaching for the phone. 

“I can’t believe we just did that,” she gasps, stopping the recording and dropping the phone onto the bedside table. 

“I can’t believe _you_ did that,” he counters.

“I like to keep you guessing, Mulder.” She lifts her head and he shifts his weight so that she can turn beneath him; he slides out of her as she does.

She offers him her lips and he takes them, breathing her in like oxygen. She gives him life, being here like this. He hopes she stays, and not just tonight.

She takes leave of him but only to go to the bathroom. He hears the toilet flush and the shower runs for a minute or two as he checks the phone was actually recording. Hallelujah; that’s an affirmative. She steps back into the bedroom and pulls out a pair of pajamas from an overnight bag. 

She means to stay over, he notes. Meant to stay before she even got here. 

Her necessary items are packed in the small case and not unpacked into the drawers he has always left empty, awaiting her belongings once again, but it is a step in what he views as a positive direction. 

They head downstairs and order takeout, eating it in close proximity on the couch and finally getting to that movie they meant to watch the night before. Mulder lets Scully choose, in a wildly inadequate show of gratitude.

She falls asleep on his shoulder twenty minutes before the end. 

After he rouses her, they traipse upstairs again. Scully heads into the bathroom and Mulder checks the most recent item on the camera roll once more, his happiness plastered across his face as he hears the buzz of what he assumes is her electric toothbrush. After he himself finishes his nightly ablutions, they spoon up in bed together, closely entwined under the covers.

Scully, satiated and happy in his embrace, looks at Mulder’s phone, face up on the nightstand, and realizes with certainty that she has already made her decision, albeit unconsciously.

She has always needed him just as much as he needs her. The yin to her yang, the south to her north, the moose to her squirrel. He is everything to her; he is her Mulder. And women who aren’t going to come home don’t make sex tapes with their Mulders.

In the end she knows it all comes down to this: she simply cannot conceive of a life without him.

She will keep it to herself for a while. Let it percolate. Talk to her god about it. But it has been set in motion; she is coming home.

“G’night Mulder,” she murmurs, bringing his hand to her lips and softly kissing the side of his thumb. 

He gives her a squeeze with his arm, and snuggles closer to her back and shoulders. “G’night Scully,” he mumbles into her hair. 

She closes her eyes and falls asleep within minutes.

They awake to the alarm the next morning and, although not a word has been spoken on the subject, each starts the day with the feeling of a promise having been made. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you liked and maybe I can write more of it.
> 
> Comments enthusiastically welcomed here, on Twitter (@callmescully) or via email at DanaScullyMakesMe@gmail.com
> 
> Audio version available on Audio Fanfic Podcast [here](https://soundcloud.com/audiofanficpod/sets/xf-the-camera-roll-by-danascullymakesmefeelautopsyturvy-ma)


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